Parallel Lives
by EpsilonPax
Summary: Post-DOTM; Rated for strong language; Annabelle resents Bumblebee's guardianship, and wants to be normal again without the Autobots in her life. After getting in a fight with Bumblebee she looks to her Uncle Sam for guidance.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This theoretically takes place some years after the events of DOTM (Sam is now married to Carly) though most of this piece takes place on NEST's bases on Diego Garcia instead of at NEST's Washington DC base. One last fair warning , there is repeated use of the "F" bomb, so to speak. Though we did try to keep it to a minimum, it is used a total of five times.**

**As always, please R & R! ~~~Epsilon Pax & Bumbee  
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**Disclaimer: I own nothing Transformers, nor do I have any rights or make any profit from the use of anything Transformers and any/ all associated characters.(Yes, that makes us sad knowing that, too)  
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_"I don't want to be a freak anymore!"_

Frustration tightened her already tense muscles, strained her voice and fueled the flames of her temper. Balling her hands into fists, turning her delicate knuckles white, Annabelle glared at the pristine yellow Camero that had so determinedly followed her even after she had fled her school as soon as the concluding bell had rung. Halfway between school and her home, halfway to nowhere, subconsciously Annabelle had to admit the futility of her endeavor to evade a being whose very programming had been one designated to tracking and finding that which no one else could. Still, she had done her damnedest to lose the Camero in the tall, tawny grass of the open field that eventually gave way to a speckling of trees that couldn't quite whisper 'forest'.

Earlier that afternoon, all she had wanted to do was get away, far, far away. Walking down the hallways, away from her locker, away from the whispers, away from the gossip, away from the searing and mocking glances; Annabelle had never wanted to escape from her life more. She should have been more than content, more than happy; not only did she have two loving, wonderful, supportive parents, but she had a wonderful close knit group of friends, friends who were always willing to listen to her and always were there to give her rides. Too bad, those friends weren't human. She should have felt safe and secure in the knowledge that she had a guardian, a friend who not only mimicked a sleek and devilishly beautiful Camero, but who could, would and did protect her from anything and everything that could possibly threaten or hurt her. Everything, that is except those glances, those whispers that followed her everyday at school…

When she had first entered high school and pulled into the parking lot in one of the hottest cars a teenager could ever hope to even be within proximity of, Annabelle had lived on cloud nine for a whole year. The popular girls, in their awestruck jealousy, had been smothered into silence, and the boys began to take notice of her. She had automatically achieved what few high school freshmen ever could: she had been cool. And through it all Bumblebee had played his part flawlessly—after all he had had more than enough practice with Sam—no one had ever believed anything other than _he _was _her_ car. But in the end, it had been Annabelle who had slipped, who had put the first of many growing cracks in their laboriously maintained façade. How many times, in her exuberance to see Bee had she actually waved to the obviously driver-less—even passenger-less for that matter—Camero? How many times had she neglected to conceal the fact that she often talked directly to her car, clearly comfortable and confident of receiving some sort of answer? And then there was the Camero's uncanny ability to seem to always find itself between Annabelle and any possible careless driver. Painfully, Annabelle recalled the incident in which she had to mumble up a story about the Camero's brakes failing in order to explain away how the car had prevented her from getting clipped by a careless and speeding student driver. She knew no one had really bought her hastily concocted tale, after all how often did a car's brakes fail backward and uphill when it was parked facing down said hill? She shouldn't have been so surprised when the rumors and whispers had started the next week at school. Almost overnight Annabelle had fallen from her zenith of cool to being labeled 'weird' and odd.

And now…now with one searing look one of the cheerleaders had named her for what she had truly become, for what she was: a freak. Staring at the perpetually pristine paint, paint that could never chip or fade, and hearing the tires—tires that could never be punctured, blown or even become flat—as they crunched on the gravel as the Camero inched hesitantly forward, bile and bitterness once more began to rise in Annabelle's throat. It wasn't fair. Sure, her father, even her mother had made their own choices, and Annabelle could never begrudge them the life that they had built together and for her. But it was him—Annabelle narrowed her eyes at the yellow muscle car—he, in his persistence, in his insistence to remain a felt presence in their lives, had turned her into a freak by association. The novelty of a life long alien friendship she had forged with Bumblebee had tarnished, at last wearing off, allowing her to see what was beneath. She wasn't normal, no matter how much she tried to be, or pretended to be. Because no matter what she did, what she said or how she acted, nothing would ever change the fact that the beings she spent most of her time with weren't natural, didn't even belong to Earth. Sure she had friends, plenty of them, but the problem was that most of them simply weren't human.

Her voice trembled in the hastening evening air; not out of weakness, but of anger, bitter, raw and hot. "I don't want to be a freak anymore!"

Frantically her eyes searched for anything useful on the dry and dusty earth that she could throw. She needed to prove she didn't need, didn't want him in her life anymore; he had turned her sour, he had made her into a freak! So long as he stayed she couldn't ever hope for a normal life.

Misreading her rapid dive for the ground, Bumblebee threw his terrestrial guise to the wind, unfolding rapid fire into his natural bipedal form. One bright and massive hand reached out to Lennox's daughter, fearing she could be hurt. Instead, within the span of several human heartbeats, Annabelle straightened up and rocks and gravel pinged off his armor.

"It's your fault! You made me freak! You had to stay! You had to follow me around! Now because of you I'm a freak with a freak of a car!" She knew she wasn't hurting him; she couldn't, in fact nothing that she could ever lay her hands on could ever hope to inflict any lasting physical damage on that impenetrable yellow armor. Yet, the hulking metal monstrosity seemed to hunch his shoulders, cowering away from her harmless and human assault.

"Look what you've done to me! What you've forced me to become!" She hadn't realized she had been crying, she had somehow neglected to feel the hot tears that leaked out of her eyes, "I don't have any normal human friends! No one wants to do normal things with me because they think I'm so sort of freak!"

Bumblebee emitted a low, mournful whistle.

"It's because of you…why can't you just leave me alone? Leave me so I can be normal?"

"Annabelle, I can't leave you…its not safe." His lighter tenor voice only further emphasized his otherness. Not only was he a robot who could emulate anything he wanted, but he was a _talking_ robot that could do so, " Please Annabelle, it's getting dark, let me take you home…please?"

"I don't need you to get home, I can find it all by myself."

"Annabelle…I—"

But she wouldn't hear it, she was done listening; his persistence only pushed Annabelle onto greater lengths of frustration. He wasn't going to leave her alone. He wouldn't listen to any of her human reasons…her human reasons? Latching onto what her unconsciousness pleaded with her not to do—somewhere she knew it was beyond cruel, but her anger and disgust with herself wouldn't allow her to see beyond such baser emotions—Annabelle snapped out what she hoped would make him leave her alone.

Kicking more gravel in his direction—Bee winced again in a very human like manner—"What does your leader always say Bee? What is his mantra?" She couldn't bring herself to say his name, another sign of her unnaturalness.

"You know Optimus' name, Annabelle. You don't need to—"

"_What does he say Bee?" _

Rather than merely repeat the maxim, Bee tapped into his audio banks and the dulcet and powerful voice of Optimus Prime rolled forth, disembodied, from Bee's speakers: "Freedom is the right of all sentient beings."

Annabelle's gut churned at the sound of that voice, "See, freedom is my right Bee. It's my right and allows me to choose the kind of life that I want, and what I want is a normal life!"

"Annabelle…"

Annabelle wanted to scream, why couldn't he just leave her alone? She just wanted to be alone with her wounded pride and feelings of rejection that hurt. Bee had always been there for her, just as he had always been there for Sam. But Bee could never protect her or shield her from the sneering glances, the cutting remarks and whispers that followed her wherever she went on campus. She just needed time to be hurt, time to come to terms with a nuance of humanity that Bee would never completely understand. Instead of explaining as much, she kicked more gravel and rocks at him and snarled, "_Fuck off Bee!" _

Absolute, impenetrable silence descended between them in that moment, as her words hung in the air, hurtful and mean. It was suddenly hard to breathe, her chest felt tight, instead of feeling better, she felt infinitely worse; she had never said that to anyone before, let alone Bee.

Wordlessly, he gazed at her for a long moment, his optics normally so bright and cheerful, were dim now. Slowly, as if it hurt, Bee took a step back and folded into his terrestrial guise. Still he hesitated, even now unwilling to leave her alone. But when she held stubbornly onto her wall of silence, he slowly began to reverse away from her.

"I'm sorry, Annabelle."

Then, he was gone; pulling away onto the dirt road and disappearing in the same long, dusty grasses she had been so desperately trying to lose him in before.


	2. Chapter 2

To say that Annabelle felt guilty—heart wrenching terrible perhaps was more accurate—would have been an understatement. Ever loyal, wonderful, courteous, cheerful Bee hadn't said a word to her father that fateful day when Annabelle seemed to have severed their friendship with two razor sharp words. Rather he had honored her wishes, and as soon as he had sensed her return to her family's dwelling—he hadn't intruded upon her desire to walk the rest of the way home—he had left, whether to Sam, to N.E.S.T base or elsewhere, Annabelle never had the nerve or heart to ask. But she hadn't seen or heard from him since. Three lonely months had stretched outward in a never ending expanse that enveloped the horizon line of her future, presenting her with an unattainable goal: summer vacation, and more importantly summer back at base, back with Bee. Three, long, empty and silent months.

Yet as eager as she had been to return to base, when she found herself packing her bags—when had the drive to the airport diminished to a hand span of fleeting minutes?—the thrum of the airplane's engine beneath her worn tennis shoes nearly sent her already skittish nerves into overdrive, the flashes of the journey to N.E.S.T headquarters elapsed with the clarity and swiftness of a dream. She blinked her eyes and the sixteen hour flight was over, a count of four human heartbeats brought her into the cool recesses of the long familiar debriefing hanger and once more enveloped in her father's arms. Feigning jet lag in an endeavor to mask her morose and decidedly lackluster demeanor, Annabelle remained nearly wordless throughout the rest of the day. Chaotic as such returns to base typically were, combined with the ebb and flow of the unit's activity, it hadn't been difficult to hide her feelings of guilt tipped apprehension—every time she turned around, walked beyond a corner, ducked into a different room, she expected to run into Bee. She crossed every threshold with her heart in her throat and with baited breath. However, despite her nervous and timid ventures around a base she had nearly committed to memory, Annabelle managed to pass the remaining hours of daylight without the briefest glimpse of the yellow Camero.

Evening found her surrounded by a welcome throng of familiar human faces; her father, mother, Auntie Elena, and Uncle Epps along with her honorary 'Uncle's' Stuart, Olsen, Vladimir and even Sam gathered together in the corner of the Autobot hanger that Elena's office occupied. The wave of relief that had coursed through her the moment she realized the hanger had been devoid of any and all robotic life only accentuated painful feelings of guilt. Unable to fake a smile any longer Annabelle retreated from the levity under the pretenses of a headache. Wanting to be away from the group but not necessarily entirely removed, she elected to perch on one of the wooden crates that haunted the hanger but fifty feet away from where her family and friends reclined in their cloud of happiness; this way she was distant but the cadence of their voices, laughter—even her Uncle Epp's flat jokes—could still echo over to her, the sounds keeping her loneliness at bay. Once she had assured herself that the lights from her Auntie Elena's office and her father's desk couldn't properly reach her expression, Annabelle loosened the hold on the wad of emotions that had been packed too tightly into her chest. Her bottom lip trembled, and anxiously she bit at it to stop its nervous movements. Unwilling to draw attention to herself, Annabelle only allowed herself a quiet sigh as a herald to the tears that obscured her vision. Flashes of her last conversation with Bee nipped at an already sore heart, the memories granted a keener edge because of what she had learned today. Just shy of two weeks prior to her and her mother's return to base, the team—Bumblebee included—had encountered a handful of still lingering Decepticons. From what she had heard the fighting, though brief, had been particularly arduous and not without it's costs.

Ever since she had found out, the shades of nameless dreads had ceaselessly chased themselves within her head. And the continued absence of any Autobots had only sharpened her fear. Where was Bee? Was he hurt? He couldn't possibly be—

Not for the first, nor last time that day Annabelle's heart once more found itself throbbing within her throat as the sound of metal rattling in an unearthly cadence rang within her ears. With light hearts and easy smiles the rest of the group hailed the approach of the Autobots readily—Annabelle, however, hadn't realized it was possible to feel so very, very nervous, elated and terrified all at once. Slowly, one by one the ancient beings approached, the wan light illuminating their features: Wheeljack, Ratchet, Prowl and lastly Optimus Prime. But no Bee. Where was her Bee? As quickly as it had appeared within her throat, Annabelle felt her heart plummet into the pit of her stomach as what faint illumination there was defined canyons and yawning valleys of rents and tears in impenetrable armor, a forest of dents and new scratches now marred once smooth paneling. Annabelle hung her head at the sight: not one of them had escaped without damage. She could only imagine with nightmarish clarity what sort of injuries her Bumbee could have sustained. And the last thing she had said to him had been hateful words that echoed in her ears and conscience, mocking and damning. Bee had wanted to help her, to make her feel better and to protect her. And she had returned his kindness by telling him to-

"Hey, kiddo are you ok?"

The familiar voice, abruptly and rudely brought Annabelle out of her trance of guilt, "Oh…hi Unka Sam." The childish and instinctive title came out before she could stop it.

He couldn't help but grin, apparently indestructible teenage pride held no sway over Annabelle, "Hey JellyBell." He returned, "Mind if I join you?" When her only reply was to mutely shrug her shoulders—teenager for 'yes'—Sam took a seat on the crate beside her. Nudging his shoulder against hers, he mumbled, "What's wrong kiddo?"

Like a fish out of water, Annabelle gulped mutely for air, for answers. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't go splash on her Uncle Sam; it wasn't going to happen, wasn't going to…

There was a rustle of movement and then timidly a wadded pack of travel tissues was offered to her, "Your Auntie Carly makes me keep these around; wanna hang on to them for me?"

Accepting his kindness with a watery grin, Annabelle made quick use of them wiping away the trails of tears that had escaped and willing no more to follow. See? She was a big girl she could hold it together.

Another shoulder nudge, "What can I do to help? Need me to beat up anyone for you? Cuz I know some awesome good friends that could help with that." He'd meant the jest to be simply that; a means of getting her to smile again and gain some distance between whatever it was that could drive her to cry. But at the implication of the Autobots, Annabelle seemed to be unceremoniously shoved towards that same precipice of tears again.

Sam put his arm around her shoulders, "Hey, hey, c'mon now, no more tears. No, no, no, no, no, no. What's wrong, Annabelle?" Already he resolved that if this had to do with any would be boyfriend, the sucker was going to be in a world of hurt. He wouldn't need Bee's help, between him, Epps, and Lennox there wasn't going to be anything left., "C'mon kiddo, you can tell me anything." Even through her tears, Annabelle couldn't help but return Sam's perpetually boyish grin with a tiny, watery smile of her own. Noting her change of expression, Sam prompted: "Look, I promise I won't get mad or even say anything if you don't want me to. I can just listen."

Mutely Annabelle nodded, taking a deep breath in, then out, in, then out. She would explain everything rationally and calmly; she could be an adult about her feelings. Another watery sigh, "It's…its about Bumblebee…"

Inwardly she winced, saying his name aloud made her want to bawl all over Sam. Instead, she risked another glance over to where Optimus and the other Autobot's were grouped. She didn't have to be a mechanical engineer to see how Wheeljack favored his left arm, subtly cradling it with his right, or how Prowl didn't seem to be able to put his full weight onto his right leg and shifted his frame every few minutes, each movement inducing a faint tremor of pain; even Optimus looked worse for wear, his battle mask firmly in place, riddled with dents and several painfully looking tears in his armor. As if sensing her gaze, the Autobot leader fleetingly flickered his optics over in their direction; to Annabelle they had never looked so weary and so sad. Annabelle's bottom lip trembled, her Bumbee hadn't returned with the others. That had to be it. That had to be why he wasn't here now…Her Bumbee wouldn't be coming home…

Oblivious to the pained expression on her features, Sam chuckled, "Yeah, what did Bee do now?" Already he could picture the happy go lucky scout attempting to accompany Annabelle on any and every teenage outing: trying to fit in a movie theater, swimming pool, or tripping over some power lines and causing a neighborhood blackout. The movement of Annabelle's shoulders shuddering with her repressed sobs and sighs damped his mirth considerably. "Annabelle…?"

All at once, the words tumbled from her in a rush, each tripping over the other in a surge of guilt-ridden sorrow, "ItoldBeetofuckoff…" Annabelle clapped a hand over her mouth as the poison words filled the air between her and her uncle; now he knew what a horrible, ungrateful brat she was. Now he knew that she didn't deserve such a wonderful guardian and friend, as Bee. The youngest Autobot had given his life for humanity, for her, and the last thing she had told him was to…to…

"You what now?" His tone was devoid of the heat of anger or disappointment in her, rather he tilted his head in confusion; clearly he had been unable to decipher her mash of words.

Annabelle clamped her eyes shut, cutting off the image of the Autobots and her family as once again the damning words left her lips, deflated and harmless, "I told him to fuck off."

Stunned, and sitting up a little straighter but determinedly keeping his arm around her shoulders Sam managed an, "Oh…"He took a few moments to process her words and their implications before he annunciated cautiously, "You…told…Bee…to…fuck…off…"

Meekly, Annabelle bowed her head, hunching her shoulders, simultaneously wishing she could disappear within herself and yet longing for her Uncle to rebuke her, to chastise her not only for using such inappropriate language but for also using it toward a friend; and not only any friend, but Bumblebee.

Yet, the apocalyptic lecture never came—at least not from Sam—instead, after another handful of minutes had expired, Sam merely asked, "What was he doing that got you that mad?"

He wanted to be fair to Annabelle, to try and see the situation from her point of view before he delivered anything remotely resembling a tongue lashing; even then he could just elect to leave that to Lennox, being a Colonial and all, Sam knew first hand how adept Lennox was at giving blistering lectures. But at the moment, Sam was hard pressed to come up with any reason—let alone any good reason—Annabelle may have had for saying something like that to the sensitive Autobot. Hell, even if Ironhide had stepped on Mojo—here there was a sharp mental wince, a heart pang knowing that both Ironhide and Mojo were long gone—Sam still didn't think he would have been able to drum up courage enough to tell the Autobot weapon's specialist to…well…

"It wasn't so much what he was doing, but how I was feeling."

"Which was?"

A mumbled excuse of, "You wouldn't understand."

Now where had he heard that before?

"C'mon, try me," Scraps of memories from when he had been Annabelle's age assailed him: recollections of when he had first met Bumblebee, of when he had run for his life clutching the Allspark; of running across blistering desert sand while clinging to the hope beyond his wildest hope that a sock-full of magic metal dust could summon the dead back to life; of desperately clinging to industrial wiring, trapped inside a building as it was capsized, gutted by a metallic monster. "I bet I'd surprise you."

Blessed with the aggravating tenacity of all teenagers, Annabelle resolutely shook her head, this time more emphatically, "I don't think so, Uncle Sam…"

Sam merely waited—a tactic he had picked up from both Elena and Lennox—before he finally asked, "C'mon if you can't tell me, who can you tell? I'm the only one that isn't going to lecture you."

With a huff of a sigh—a sure sign that she had caved—Annabelle twisted the package of tissues in her hands, playing with it, unable to meet her Uncle's gaze, " I was running away from him, I told him that I didn't want him in my life anymore because he made me feel like…like a freak." Even she winced at the phrasing, " I just wanted to be a normal teenager, no robots, no aliens, just be normal with normal teenage problems. At the time, what I wanted most was to just have a normal life with normal friends. But he wouldn't leave me alone, he was worried about me, and wanted to take me home so I could be safe…that's when I told him to…to…"

"And now? Do you want to be normal now? Do you regret knowing the Autobots?"

Her blonde tresses curtained around her face, "No, of course not. I was just upset at the time because some kids at school were making fun of me and I…I took it out on, Bee." Pausing for an emboldening sigh, Annabelle hesitantly continued, "I know that was selfish of me, and I was being stupid, but you can't understand how very badly I wanted to be just a normal teenager…Look Uncle Sam, I know you've known Bee—"tears flooded her eyes"—you did know Bee, longer than I have—did—but I don't think you c-could understand…" She wasn't going to cry anymore, wasn't going to cry, wasn't going to…"I just can't get past the fact that the last thing I'll have ever said to Bee was to…to…. and I'll never get the chance to tell him any different." Annabelle hiccoughed, " I'll never get to thank him for being my best friend, for everything he did for me…"

At last cottoning onto Annabelle's struggle with tense, Sam narrowed his eyes, "Annabelle, I know that Bee's more sensitive than most, but I guarantee he'll get over you telling him that…and why can't you tell him any of those nice things you just said?"

Annabelle's bottom lip trembled, "Do you not know?"

"Not know what?"

"Sam…Bee is…is…" She couldn't bring herself to say the horrible truth that had at last dawned on her, she wouldn't say it because then it would be irrevocably true.

"What? You think Bee is dead?" Sam grinned.

"He didn't come back with the others…"mutely she pointed to where the other Autobots were clustered with the humans, at a loss and uncomprehending her Uncle's nonsensical reaction to what she perceived as what should have been devastating news.

"That doesn't mean he's dead, Jellybean. Look I'll prove it to you." Unceremoniously Sam reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone. Keeping every motion deliberate, Sam texted Bumblebee: _'BB are you dead?' _

Within moments of the message being sent, Sam's phone vibrated to life with an answering text from 'BuzzingBee': '_No.'_ Triumphantly Sam held up the screen for Annabelle so she could clearly see the text. Even as she repeatedly read the simple exchange between Sam and Bee, a second text popped onto the tiny screen:

'_Did you think I was?'_

'_No, just a rumor. Just wanted 2 make sure ur were ok. Ty ttyl.' _

'_?'_

'_I'll explain l8r'_

'…_kk'_

An idea occurring to Sam, he added on a whim:

'_Hey, BB r u mad Jllybell?'_

'_Jllybell?'_

'_Annabelle? R u mad Annabelle, B?"_

'_Ur asking such strge ?'s Sam. Ur not making n e sense; r u feeling well?'_

'_Nvm, ttyl' _

Decidedly glad that he hadn't let Annabelle see the subsequent texts, Sam returned his phone to his pocket and gave her a pointed look. Yet any feelings of residual smugness rapidly evaporated as he caught sight of Annabelle's crestfallen look; he'd been so sure that seeing proof that Bee was alive and alright would have made her feel infinitely better, however it seemed to have hardly improved her mood. "Hey, c'mon kiddo every thing is fine, see Bee's alive and ok, no worries."

"You, don't understand, Uncle Sam. I was so selfish and just plain mean. He's never going to forgive me."

"I wouldn't worry about it," at her skeptical look, he continued, "Besides, I've done worse myself."

She lifted an eyebrow in disbelief, "What could you have possibly done that was worse than telling Bee to fuck off?"

"I'll tell you if you promise to stop using that word."

A brusque nod before she pressed, "What did you do?"

"Annabelle, promise me."

"Yeah, I promise. So what did you do?"

Becoming somberly still, Sam looked over to where Optimus knelt across the hanger and was struck with the uncanny sensation that the Autobot leader could hear them. Allowing several long seconds to elapse and failing to discern any indications of such, Sam steeled himself to recant what had become one of his greatest regrets and mistakes, "When I was your age, I wanted the same things you did. I wanted to be normal, with a normal teenage life and normal teenage problems." A sad smirk twisted the corner of his lips, "All I had wanted to do was go to college, no alien robots, no national security risks, just college midterms, finals and papers to worry about." Playfully, in a would be lighthearted manner, Sam nudged Annabelle's shoulder again, "I was just like you, and yeah I was being selfish."

Sensing the growing severity of his words, timidly Annabelle breathed, "What happened?"

"Optimus came to me and asked for my help, he told me that the Autobots needed me, that he needed me…" Once again Sam's gaze alighted on Prime, "And I told him no."

"You said no to Optimus Prime?"

"Yes, and because of me, because of my selfishness I got him killed."

Like a whiplash, Annabelle protested her gaze flickering from Optimus to Sam and back again and then again, "But…he's not dead...he's still alive."

"That's where I got lucky, thanks to some ancient alien technology, I was able to help bring him back."

Swallowing hard, sensing the grim undercurrent beneath his words, Annabelle reflected, "But he never forgave you did he?"

"No, Optimus didn't need to forgive me, he never held it against me. Even when I refused to help him for such selfish reasons, even as I told him no, he never held it against me, never even got upset."

Intuitively sensing there was more, Annabelle ventured timidly, "But?"

Once more Sam's gaze alighted on Optimus' regal countenance, this time human eyes were met with cerulean optic lenses: "_But," _he amended, "I don't think I ever quite forgave me." From the folds of his pocket, his cell phone once again hummed with an unread text message.

"Uncle Sam, when did this all happen? How old were you?" Annabelle couldn't help but be drawn into her Uncle's tale; how rapidly her own melodrama seemed to diminish in comparison. It strangely gave her hope that maybe Bee could and would indeed forgive her, and just maybe they could go back to being friends and he wouldn't begrudge being her guardian.

"Oh, it was a long time ago, if I remember right you were probably only two or three year's old at the time…" Instinctively expecting the new text message to be from Bee, Sam had no hesitation retrieving his phone and opening the text. To his surprise it wasn't from his Autobot guardian, but rather the sender's name read unmistakably and simply: 'Optimus.' As Annabelle continued a stream of timid questions, Sam scrolled down to see what the Autobot leader had sent him: _'Is everything alright, Samuel?'_ So his suspicion had been correct, Optimus had overheard their conversation, though clearly not everything. Allowing himself a moment to smirk over the fact that even in his text message, Prime not only refused to use short hand, but somehow was able to impart his concern in such a comforting way. As a side note, Sam had to give himself points for being able to answer Annabelle's questions even as he texted back: '_I think everything is going 2 be fine. Annabelle just worried about Bee, ty." _

'_Can I be of any assistance?'_

'_I think I've got it handled, but I'll let u kno.'_

'_I trust your judgment, Samuel." _

'_lol is that a good or bad thing?"_

'_Listen to your instincts, follow your Spark, trust yourself; you doubt yourself and your abilities too much.' _

Sam blinked, absorbing the implications of Prime's words—and wondering how the hell he could sound so sagacious through a damn text message!—before he couldn't resist texting back: _'Someone's been eavesdropping.'_ But was quick to send a second text on the heels of the first, _'Ty for your advice & ty for your trust.'_

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Sam met Annabelle's still watering gaze. He nudged her shoulder with his again, "C'mon. What do you say you and I go for a walk, kiddo?"

Annabelle chewed her lip thoughtfully, looking over to where the others were still clustered. Not one of them seemed to take note of either Annabelle or Sam: Epps had apparently launched into a long-winded, nonsensical tale, at the start of which both Ratchet and Prowl had resolutely taken their leave, determined not to listen to it. Optimus, while exiting with Ratchet and Prowl, had done so with kinder parting words, but Wheeljack, ever social and inquisitive, had remained behind with the other humans to hear out Epps' no doubt disproportionate tale.

"So there I was," Epps intoned dramatically, "All alone, one shot left, and I looked Shockwave straight in the eye and I told him there was no way in hell he was gonna take over this planet! And he was going to be a world of hurt if he didn't go and f—"

Annabelle smirked, she had heard this re-telling before; they all had. Looking back to her Uncle Sam, she nodded meekly, "Sure, a walk would be cool."


End file.
